


For Ashelia to Rise

by astrangerenters



Series: FF12 bits and pieces [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Light Angst, Major Character Injury, Missing Scene, Post-Game(s), Reunions, Secrets, Unresolved Sexual Tension, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24209473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerenters/pseuds/astrangerenters
Summary: She’d come to Bhujerba for more than just a lesson in rule. She’d come for answers that had been hidden from her for reasons she didn’t understand.
Relationships: Balthier/Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca
Series: FF12 bits and pieces [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747345
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	For Ashelia to Rise

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second of two little FF12 stories I was poking at earlier this year and couldn’t figure out where to go next - it briefly mentions events from For All Her Tomorrows to Come, but otherwise they could mostly exist separately.
> 
> Something that’s always bugged me about the FF12 ending (and part of my ~Origin Story~ as a fanfic writer, tbh) was Balthier and Fran disappearing after Bahamut and then reappearing months later and stealing the Strahl back off-screen, NBD. I’ve always been curious about what they were doing in those lost months, so this is just a small ‘what if’ with an Ashe —> Balthier spin because I’m predictable.

They watched her more closely on this visit, her uncle’s guards. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust her, but she’d not been the most grateful guest her last time in Dorstonis. They didn’t want to risk Princess Ashelia B’Nargin vanishing after dinner once more.

This was her first official visit to Bhujerba since the ceasefire four months earlier. Ashe had thought she’d known what it was to be tired before, fighting for Dalmasca’s freedom. Charging at beasts all day, swinging a sword, feeling the shudder of a creature crashing against her shield and sending a jolt up her arm…she’d often been asleep soon after her head met the pillow in those days. Diplomacy was a different sort of tiring.

The common folk of Dalmasca had been overjoyed at her victory, overjoyed by her miraculous return from the dead. If they’d had their way, she’d have been crowned the second she entered the capital through the West Gate. She was grateful to have their support, but it wasn’t enough.

The nobles of Rabanastre had paid a high price to keep themselves influential during the occupation, bribing the Archadians to keep their homes, to keep from being shoved into Lowtown with so many others. Now that the Empire was gone they were wary of her. Mostly they were afraid she would retaliate against them for turning a blind eye to their enemy in order to keep their mansions and their jewels. For all their despicable choices, Ashe still needed them. Couldn’t risk their wrath. She needed the money that had gotten them those mansions and jewels to rebuild Dalmasca.

Day in and day out she sat there still uncrowned, ruling over the provisional government the Archadians had helped them to set up as they withdrew. In only a few years, they’d changed so much of the day to day governance of Rabanastre and Dalmasca as a whole, and it would take years to unravel it all. The collection of taxes, the regulation of the marketplaces, the allocation of housing. There was no way to go back to how things had been under her father, which was both good and bad. There was no way to quickly erase the marks Archadia’s bureaucracy had left behind. And so Ashe, with the help of the least irritating nobles she’d found and added to her council, decided what to try and change back and what to keep, if only because they couldn’t yet afford to fully undo the Archadian way of doing things.

The council had finally set a date for her coronation - one full year from Bahamut’s fall, a good eight months from now. Though she was the only remaining child of Raminas and a pureblooded descendant of the Dynast-King himself, she had not been raised for rule. Even as her brothers fell to illness and to war, the business of statecraft had mostly been kept from her, try as she did to study on her own in secret defiance. She’d read books on politics, had read the writings of her ancestors. Proclamations and decrees. Laws and regulations. But still her father and the old men he’d kept around him had expected to depend on Rasler to oversee affairs. They had only expected to depend on Ashe to provide more heirs to the Dynast-King’s bloodline.

She had defeated Vayne Solidor, true, but her kingdom needed a politician now. Not a warrior. They’d given her a year to prove herself as adept with overseeing the state as she’d been with wielding a blade. She was, unfortunately, on probation. In eight months she would be crowned Queen of Dalmasca, but what that really meant was still uncertain. The council would decide how much weight her orders might hold. It was insulting. It was infuriating after how hard she’d fought for independence. But she was both a woman and young, so she needed their respect and she needed their money if Dalmasca was to carry on.

The provisional Dalmascan government, wobbling from the influence of those greedy nobles who still didn’t quite trust her, was now on a goodwill tour. She’d opted for Bhujerba first. Rozarria would be next, in thanks for their support in battle. A tricky tightrope to walk, as they’d want more than a mere “thank you” from the almost-Queen of Dalmasca, but she still had a few months to prepare for it. A visit to Archadia would be unlikely for another year or two, much as Larsa’s letters assured her that she would be welcomed at his court. Dalmasca’s independence had to sting, and she doubted the gentry there who had made investments in Rabanastre during the occupation were very happy with her.

She’d been in Bhujerba a week now. Long meetings with the Marquis and his staff, getting an alternate and most welcome perspective on the various threads that held together the new peace. Receiving her uncle’s advice privately on how best to handle each party that demanded her attention. Longer meetings with local guildsmen and wealthy merchants who had negotiated trade deals with the Archadians during the occupation and who hoped to continue receiving such favorable terms moving forward. Ashe was grateful that she hadn’t been left alone to negotiate, having insisted upon bringing Rabanastre merchants to Bhujerba with her to push for fairer contracts, to have a say themselves.

Though there’d been arguments and grumbling, most sessions had gone without any problems. Ashe had learned more about tariffs on the import of Bhujerban madhu and wine than she’d even thought possible. Her days had been full, and though she enjoyed the challenge set before her, she’d come to Bhujerba for more than just a lesson in rule.

She’d come for answers that had been hidden from her for reasons she didn’t understand.

It had been two long, agonizing days before the crashed carcass of the Bahamut had been deemed “safe” enough for recovery teams to enter. The Bhujerbans had entered first, though she hadn’t learned of it until long after. They’d been aboard, searching for signs of life for hours before the Dalmascan contingent had eventually joined them. Ashe had been desperate to board and see for herself, but those first days had kept her all but locked away at the palace, the Marquis spearheading her introduction to the men and women who would serve her. The man she eventually named as captain of her guard had been the one to come to her with the news: 

Nobody had been found alive. 

Bodies of more than three hundred Archadian soldiers had been recovered from the wreckage, their return to their homeland for burial spearheaded by Judge Zargabaath, who had remained camped outside Rabanastre to oversee the peaceful withdrawal Larsa had demanded. Ashe had given explicit orders to each nation participating in the recovery efforts for a thorough search of any sections of the Bahamut where glossair rings could be repaired. 

That was the type of work Balthier had been doing when she’d last heard from him, had last heard his proud assurances of his immortality. Surely finding a single Hume and a Viera would be simple, given that they were not dressed as the Archadians. But Captain Oreille had looked rather confused. 

They’d found the most likely section of the fortress, an area that had been somewhat cleared compared to the rooms around it. Blood, dried blood, and far too much of it for anyone to have walked away easily. Ashe’s hands had been shaking when a small satchel was handed over. A broken piece of intricate metal she had immediately recognized as part of the headpiece Fran always wore. Of Balthier, they’d found a belt buckle and one of his small supply pouches. The material had been soaked through and had already stiffened, the potion bottles within having shattered. That was all they’d found to return to her.

They’d been spirited away somehow. Still alive? Dead? Ashe didn’t know. She kept what had been found, sending word to Vaan and Penelo that it was likely that Balthier and Fran had escaped. Would pop up again to surprise them any day now. She’d said nothing of the blood that had been found, as she thought ignorance would be more comforting to them than the confusing reality. 

Al-Cid Margrace had offered to investigate before returning home, as had the Marquis. They’d vowed to keep their inquiries secret, but Ashe had declined. The nobles had not been so captivated by the heroism of her sky pirate companions as the commoners seemed to be. Showing favoritism to them, even in secret, even if it was confirmed that they hadn’t survived, could have come back to bite her were it discovered.

She waited nearly two months before starting the investigation herself, once she had her council assembled and knew best how they all watched her. For the first time in nearly a year “Amalia” descended into the Garamsythe, locating a few Resistance contacts who’d stayed underground. She paid them with the small jewels that remained to her, the inheritance that was hers alone and not part of the Dalmascan treasury.

That was how she learned that the Bhujerbans had entered the Bahamut first, an elite group of Parivir loyal to the Marquis. And before the Dalmascan rescue crew had even entered, a small airship had flown off to the east, Bhujerban insignia on its hull. That her uncle had lied to her, had even offered to “investigate,” had wounded her deeply. What truth had he been protecting her from? If Balthier and Fran had died on Bahamut, why had he refused to tell her? If Balthier and Fran had lived, why had he refused to tell her?

And so she had chosen Bhujerba for her first goodwill visit. Ashe, too, could mask her true motives. 

The meetings during the day tired her, but the fact that she wasn’t sleeping didn’t help much either. Her uncle’s estate was vast, and she could only afford to be away from her rooms for a few hours, even in the middle of the night. She spent most of that time getting safely to town and back, leaving little time for actual mystery solving.

Ashe was no sky pirate, no matter that she’d traveled with some of the best. Sneaking into her uncle’s study, going through his papers and effects - that would be the quickest way to uncover the truth, but those rooms were guarded at all hours. His people were loyal to him, and she could buy no secrets from them. She would surely be caught and condescended to.

Her mother had been Bhujerban, Halim’s younger sister. The accent was not the easiest to imitate, but the language itself came easily to her. The locals would open up to an outsider more readily if she spoke their language fluently. She avoided the usual Parijanah establishments, knowing that word would make its way back quickly. This limited the contacts she could make, the questions she could ask. She probably wasn’t the most convincing bounty hunter, but she asked about the sky pirates Fran and Balthier. Rumor had it they’d come to Bhujerba after the battle for Rabanastre. Her unnamed boss would pay handsomely for any word of their whereabouts.

She would return to Rabanastre empty-handed if tonight’s venture led nowhere. The night before, a barmaid in a Miners’ End establishment had put her in touch with a friend who had been dating one of the Marquis’ favored Parivir. The woman, however, had refused to cooperate. There was nothing else she could try in town. Ashe’s last hope was to try the aerodrome at the Ondore estate tonight. If she could find the ship that had possibly brought them here, if she could just read the logs…

She hadn’t needed to disguise herself as she had on her dangerous visits to town. She stuck to the shadows, to the servants’ corridors she’d hidden in from her brothers as a child, seeing how long it might take before she was found.

She was halfway to the hangar when a hand wrapped around her arm, tugging her aside. “They will all be locked, Your Majesty. Have you still not learned that much after all this time?”

Ashe wondered if she’d fallen asleep in her guest room bed, if perhaps she hadn’t gotten up to sneak about at all. But no, when she looked up, the ruby eyes were the ones she remembered. This was no dream.

“Fran…”

And indeed it was her, tall and strong and very much alive. She brought a long finger to her lips. “Return to your room. I will join you there.”

Unable to argue, given this discovery, Ashe did as she was told. She sat on the bed, trembling in her shock. Her door opened and closed softly a short time later. Fran was head to toe in black, her long hair undone and flowing down her back. No headpiece. Of course not…it had been broken in the crash…

Fran gestured to a chair. “May I?”

“Please.”

Fran examined her for a while, what seemed like the faintest smile on her face. “He asked me to ensure your safety while you snuck about these last several nights.”

“Who?”

“The Marquis.”

Ashe looked down, reddening. She thought she’d simply been lucky all this time, perhaps even a skillful sneak. She’d been a fool. “You must think me childish.”

“I think of you as a kind and determined friend.” She looked up, saw that Fran’s features had softened the slightest bit. “It is good to see you again.”

“I have no idea where to start,” Ashe admitted, not ashamed if Fran saw the tears in her eyes. “All they found of you was…”

“Then I shall start,” Fran interrupted. “Though you may not be pleased with the details.”

“You are alive,” she said shakily. “So let me worry about the details as I learn them.”

She and Fran had not grown particularly close, if only because the Viera was not inclined to small talk. They’d spoken more of tactics, of who might take the watch, of a fiend’s weaknesses. Fran was quiet and practical. But Fran was also wise, knew Ivalice as none of them had. She had watched over them all, the Humes who must have all seemed so small and naive. Unlike her uncle, Fran would not lie to her.

“The crash was bad. The screeching of the metal, the fury of the Mist. He was carrying me when we fell, so he’d been unable to brace himself. I fell one way, he the other.” Fran pulled her thick hair away from her neck, revealing a long scar. “This and a broken ankle for me. We Viera are built strong, we heal quickly even without magicks and potions. As for him…” She looked at Ashe with sorrow in her eyes. “He was trapped under some debris, which made it difficult for me to use healing magicks to help him…it is a mercy that the pain left him mostly unconscious until we were found.”

Ashe felt sick at the thought of Balthier in so much pain, at the thought of what both of them had been forced to endure after the Bahamut crashed down in the desert.

“He…he…”

“He is alive,” Fran assured her. “Though not yet himself. Or shall I say…not the himself he wishes to be. His back and his leg…the healers here worked wonders, but it had been many hours before we were found in the first place. Many hours where he was simply lying there trapped and broken. Had we been found sooner, perhaps his recovery would not be so challenging. He has only just started to walk again, but he tires easily. It will be months still before he might hunt for treasure, and even then, some pain may linger.” Fran looked down. “He is unhappy.”

“Why did they not bring you to Rabanastre for treatment? I understand now that it was the Bhujerbans who found you, but why did they bring you so far? Even the fastest ship in the Bhujerban fleet would have taken hours to get here…neither of you had to suffer so…”

“It was not my decision. It was Balthier’s.”

She blinked. “Balthier’s?”

Fran nodded. “He asked the Marquis if we might be granted sanctuary here until we were healed. To my astonishment, he agreed. And so here we remain in his debt. Do not be angry with the Marquis.”

What Ashe was hearing made no sense. “I would have helped you…Fran, after everything you’ve done…”

“You speak truth,” Fran admitted. “But Balthier would not change his mind. He did not wish for you to see him this way. He knows of your visit here and still he does not wish it. He…is a stubborn Hume. He felt that were we to heal in Rabanastre that you might be distracted from your true purpose. ‘I’ve no need for a queen as a nursemaid. She has a kingdom to run,’ were the words, if I recall. It was his wish to not see you again, or to see Vaan and Penelo again, until he was the same man he was before we walked into Bahamut. The infallible leading man.”

“He thought the better choice was for me…for us to not know if you’d lived or died?”

“Pirate theatrics.” Fran’s smile was weak. “His logic at times eludes me as well.”

Ashe couldn’t speak, hand to her mouth, unable to decide how she felt. She was exhausted. She was angry. She was horrified. She was overwhelmed. She’d wondered after them, after him, every day for over four months. They were alive…that brought her a joy she could barely comprehend. But the sacrifices they’d made, the pain they’d endured for the sake of Dalmasca, all to keep Cid’s diabolical creation from destroying her capital…

The pain Balthier was still clearly enduring here, hidden away somewhere in Dorstonis.

“It may come across as vanity, I know,” Fran said, cocking her head slightly. “But that is not the way of it. He wished only to return to you whole, to make some grand entrance as he is wont to do. He did not want you to fret and worry over him. It seems he underestimated the depth of your…concern.”

She felt her skin grow hot, feeling Fran’s keen scrutiny. 

Fran _knew_.

How many times in the last few months had Ashe wished she’d been more honest with Balthier that final night, no matter the cost? How many times had she wished to be back there in the Balfonheim hangar with him, to ask him what he felt? For four months she hadn’t known if she’d ever see him again, if their only reunion might come in the afterlife.

In Rabanastre her isolation increased with each passing day, even though the number of people surrounding her continued to grow. The nobles watched her closely, waiting for her to stumble and fall. The rest of her country looked for her to be strong, to lead them. She would endure alone, as she’d endured for so long. 

But for a few months, she’d had friends. Comrades who knew her as Ashe, the person and not just as Ashelia, the Queen to be. She’d had Vaan’s adventurous spirit, Penelo’s unflagging support, Fran’s quiet guidance. She’d had honest counsel from Basch and from Balthier. Basch served another master now, and though she missed him, she at least understood and accepted why he’d made such a choice. But Balthier…

“You said he won’t see me? Even though I’ve come all this way?”

Fran shook her head. “I am sorry…”

She’d had friends and just as she’d predicted, they’d gone their separate ways. And without them, she would never be as strong as she could be. She’d do whatever it took for Ashelia to rise. But without them, she knew Ashe would continue to shrink. Ashe would diminish.

Ashe could be stubborn too. She might demand to see him no matter his objections. But she could see a wariness in Fran that spoke volumes. Balthier had not wanted to worry Ashe or Vaan or Penelo. Fran had been the one to shoulder it all herself, watching Balthier slowly heal, watching him hurt. It had been hard on her. Ashe would not push either one of them against their will. 

“Very well. Am I to keep all this a secret from Vaan and Penelo?”

“That is his wish,” Fran said softly.

“I will honor it and let him have his grand surprise later, if you’ll do one thing for me.”

Fran waited.

Ashe looked up. “Tell him…”

 _Tell him to come back to me, if only for a moment_ , she thought. _If only for a moment so I might know he is well._

“Tell him that Vaan is out there in the Strahl hunting and claiming treasures that ought to be his. So tell Balthier that I order him to hurry up and recover. To steal his ship back, unless he’s amenable to being surpassed by his apprentice.”

“I will be happy to convey your order.” Fran rose from the chair. “And I look forward to our next meeting.”

She smiled as best she could. “As do I. Thank you, Fran.”

Fran paused when she reached the door, turning to look back with kindness in her eyes. “Good night, Your Majesty.”

///

A few months before her coronation, the Strahl vanished from the Rabanastre aerodrome in the middle of the night. Ashe had no real confirmation of it until the next morning when Vaan and Penelo begged their way into an audience with her. Handed her the short message, her ring along with it.

For all his joy, Vaan still seemed a little annoyed. “After all that time, why not just ask for it back? Why not come see us? Why…steal it all of a sudden?”

“He’s a sky pirate, Vaan,” Penelo had said, gently teasing. “And that’s what sky pirates do.”

Or maybe, Ashe thought, hiding a grin as she held his note between her fingers, maybe Balthier had just been following orders.


End file.
